


need against need against need

by Aaymeirah



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Azelma just wants to be acknowledged, Beta Read, Bread, Crimes & Criminals, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Illustrated, Mamselle and Magnon basically adopt Gavroche, No one likes Cops, POV Alternating, Street Rat Gavroche, protective Eponine, sibling dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaymeirah/pseuds/Aaymeirah
Summary: “I’m always ready to help,” Azelma said quickly, she didn’t want to lose his attention, not now when she had a chance to make him notice her. To give her more responsibilities in the family business.“I know you are,” his eyes snapped back to hers and he smirked, “in fact, I have a very special task for you today. It requires discretion and good timing.”“When am I not on time, or discreet?” she dared to ask.“You’ve been good. So far. Are you interested?”“Of course,” she pulled her ponytail tighter and sat up.
Relationships: Azelma Thénardier & Éponine Thénardier, M. Thénardier/Mme. Thénardier (Les Misérables), Magnon/Mamselle Miss (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Les Mis Big Bang : Quarantine Edition.  
> Title from this Richard Silken quote; “Imagine that the world is made out of love. Now imagine that it isn’t. Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.”  
> Thanks Kay for sharing it with me.  
> Also thanks to magicpiano (on ao3) for beta reading this fic and catching so many mistakes. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The Sunday Farmers’ market was a fixture of the city. For years, the otherwise empty courtyard outside of the derelict municipal building had come to life every Sunday. Vendors sold everything from fresh produce to hand made dolls to old dvds no one wanted to watch anymore. It was chaotic and messy, just barely regulated by permits dispensed as space permitted from the municipal building. 

Gavroche loved it. He loved entering through the old wrought-iron gates dragged open early in the mornings with the scraping sound of rusty hinges. He loved dodging through the crowds of families, couples, single shoppers, occasional dogs and kids running around causing havoc unsupervised. Around the outer walls, food trucks fought to be noticed with bright signs, offering food for hungry shoppers who had bought food that would take a while to prepare. He knew which ones threw the most edible food in the waste and compost piles. Gavroche knew what stalls gave out free samples. He knew the paths the three old security guards took before slumping despondently in the shade of a tree, one drinking a glass of too-warm lemonade and the other two surreptitiously opening cans of beer. It was his weekly refuge from his scrambling life on the streets, where he could- and this was the best part of Sunday Farmer’s market, get a full meal and food to spare for the week. 

Gavroche expertly filched a caramel apple and ambled down the main path, avoiding the long-legged adults arguing over prices, looking at the sun in the sky and wondering if Magnon’s family was at their usual picnic spot yet.

“Excuse me,” Gavroche smiled his most innocent smile as he tugged on the sleeve of a chicly dressed university student placing organic apples in a reusable bag, “what is the time?” 

“9 a.m.,” the student answered absently, glancing at his watch, then turning to look down at Gavroche. “Where are your par-” 

He was gone before the student could finish asking one of the most dangerous questions he could ever be asked. He had time, Gavroche smiled and walked with a touch of purpose in his steps, it was time to find some honest work. 

* * *

Azelma fidgeted under her dad’s gaze. Scratchy stuffing poked into her bare thigh as it escaped from the patchy upholstery of the oversized armchair. She always worked to get his attention, but when she got it, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Like he didn’t see her as a daughter, but as a resource to be used in one of his schemes. Perhaps he saw her as both. It didn’t matter, Azelma thought, smiling hopefully at him. This was another chance to prove her worth and usefulness- to make her dad proud of her. 

Calculating eyes met hers and he smiled, Azelma smiled back at him hopefully. 

“How are things going with your current endeavor?” He referred to her running some messages that couldn’t be given over potentially tapped phones between himself and the Patron-Minette gang that had taken over this section of the city in recent years. 

“No incidents.”

“Good, good,” he said absently, attention suddenly drifting to the knives mounted on the mantle over the unusable fireplace. 

“I’m always ready to help,” Azelma said quickly, she didn’t want to lose his attention, not now when she had a chance to make him notice her. To give her more responsibilities in the family business. 

“I know you are,” his eyes snapped back to hers and he smirked, “in fact, I have a very special task for you today. It requires discretion and good timing.”

“When am I not on time, or discreet?” she dared to ask.

“You’ve been good. So far. Are you interested?” 

“Of course,” she pulled her ponytail tighter and sat up. 

“You need to go to the Sunday Farmer’s Market and pick up a wicker basket from Montparness’s booth. Then, without looking closely at it’s contents or letting anyone else look too closely at them, you need to meet me at my car at 12 a.m. two blocks away from the market, you know the drop off place. Give me the basket and disappear for a time. Got it?”

“It’s just like running messages, I understand.”

“Well then,” her father rubbed his hands together gleefully, “I have every confidence that you will get the job done.”

“I will,” Azelma promised, nodding her head and standing up, “I’ll go right away.”

* * *

Éponine opened one sleep-crusted eye and blearily glanced at the digital radio clock on her bedside table, the single most precious thing she owned besides her jealously guarded laptop. 

9:30 a.m.. Shit, she would be late for school. How could she have slept in when she always set multiple alarms? Panicked thoughts raced through her mind before her vision cleared enough to see the stamp in the top right corner of the display which told her it was Sunday. All was well then. She lay quietly in bed for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts as she planned how best to avoid her parents. Out of sight, out of mind after all. Ever since she had started high school, gotten distance and more perspective from the machinations of her parent’s complicated relationship, the resolve had grown with her- that she would take herself and her sister out of here. They would live together and find Gavroche, wherever he was, and they would be safe. And happy. 

Her morning routine was silent, as always. She knew just what floorboards to avoid so they wouldn’t creak, and knew the exact pressure she could turn the hot and cold taps to before the pipes leaked. Sneaky, that was her way.

Éponine ghosted down the stairs, avoiding the 5th, 13th and 16th ones, shoes in her hands. There were two exits from the building, each on the ground floor and accessed through the crappy B&B her mother ran and cooked for. The back door would be locked and squeaked when opened, so as long as no one was in the private parlor by the end of the stairwell, she should be free to leave through the main doors. 

She paused on the last few steps as the soft murmurs of voices reached her ears, one high and clear, one raspy from chain smoking and a lifetime of yelling. There went her plans. She sat down and listened intently. If going unnoticed was her immediate goal in life, information was the key to accomplishing it. 

“I have every confidence that you will get the job done.” The phrase rose clear to her ears and the resulting assurance as a moment later Azelma tripped out of the private parlor and left the building. Éponine ran a hand through her hair as she assessed the situation and came tot eh conclusion that her little sister needed to be rescued from her stupid desire to please. Again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Legally buying something was hard, because you needed money. Money, unless stolen in bits and pieces from wallets, was rare in Gavroche’s life. Two months ago, Gavroche had targeted a woman walking along the main thoroughfare with her two kids. Normally, he wouldn’t pick such people’s pockets, but he was hungry. He was desperate. Unlike most marks, her hand shot out and gripped his reaching wrist without even looking at him. 

“Kindly, don’t steal from me,” the lady said. She turned around and under her steely gaze, Gavroche was unable to look or move away. Her sons looked at him curiously. Gavroche remembered her perceptive gaze taking him in, then inexplicably softening. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked. Gavroche nodded, surprised. “Come with me then.” Gavroche had no choice but to follow her considering her vise-like grip on his wrist. To his utter surprise, the woman had taken him to a picnic bench where another lady, whom she introduced as her wife Mamselle, was setting out a large meal, instead of one of the security guards. 

“Eat.”

From then on, Gavroche had a place at their picnic table every Sunday, he could get a full meal and for some reason, the lady, called Magnon, was happy to see him every week. In fact, Gavroche had to admit he was slowly losing his wariness around the small family. As a result he wanted to pay them back somehow. Hence, money to buy toys for their two boys, because Gavroche could tell Magnon and Mamselle would never accept a gift for themselves.

He went from booth to booth, asking to help for a time. It wasn’t an outlandish idea, after all, Gavroche had seen plenty of kids his age manning the front or restocking the ready made produce from the large trailers backed up against the booths. 

“Don’t need help,” the taciturne man who sold lemonade muttered. 

“I don’t need another kid getting in my way,” sniffed a wood carver who sold jewelry shaped from odd knobs of wood, gesturing to three bored teenagers on their phones escaping the heat under the shade of an umbrella. 

“Scram,” said an apple seller.

Finding work was harder than he had thought. Gavroche took stock of where he was and groaned when he saw Montparnasse’s artisan bread booth squeezed between two trailers right beside him.

“Hey, Gav, wanna make some quick cash?” the self styled dapper thief called, a scheming expression on his face. 

“Don’t call me that!” Gavroche yelled back.

“I saw you when you were a runty little baby, so I can call you whatever I want,” he drawled.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to get involved in your gang’s schemes,” Gavroche said, walking closer. 

“You don’t have to. Not really. I saw you asking other upstanding vendors like myself,” he laughed, “for work. I’ll pay you 20 bucks if you keep an eye out for increased law presence today.” 

Gavroche considered this carefully. The Patron-Minette gang kept trying to recruit him as one of their runners, most probably due to his  _ former  _ connections with the elder Thénardiers. He wanted nothing to do with them or his stupid parents. They kicked him out, he owed them nothing. On the other hand- money, which he needed, and a low-commitment job. 

“60 € and I’ll do it.”

“Not a chance kid. 25.”

“50.”

“28.”

“45.”

“40. Final offer.”

“Deal,” Gavroche saluted and ran off. 

* * *

“Remember what you must do,” her father said, placing a hand under her chin and forcing her to stare into his eyes.

“I do,” she said as she unbuckled her seat-belt and got out of the beat up vehicle. Azelma entered through the gates of the farmer’s market and paused to look around at the maze of booths and trailers and people arranged in a seemingly haphazard fashion. He should’ve given her a map, Azelma thought, then shook her head. She would prove herself here, she didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. A glance at her watch said it was 11 a.m., she had time to find Montparnasse’s booth. 

It was hard not to get distracted by the bright sounds of life and money changing hands. She dodged people and the occasional dog on a leash. 

“Do you want a free sample?” Someone called, offering a skewer with little blocks of cheese on it. What would it hurt?

“Sure, thanks.” Azelma munched the cheese blocks methodically as she scanned for Montparnasse’s booth. There, tucked away between two trailers, a booth with bread ranging from croissants to baguettes to brioche on display under a red, white and blue awning.

“Excuse me,” she called. Montparnasse walked out from the trailer backing up to the booth and smiled when he saw her. Tipping his feathered hat, he bowed slightly.

“What can I do for you today?”

“Well,” she was suddenly shy, “I need bread.”

“Ah yes, I know just the kind.” His face didn’t indicate there was anything out of the ordinary as he casually handed her a wicker basket. 

“Thank you,” she nodded her head and turned to leave. 

“Hey, Monty!” A young, familiar voice called.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t call me Gav,” the boy retorted. Azelma gasped. 

“Gavroche? I haven't seen you in ages.”

“Good,” he turned away from her to speak to Montparnasse. “There are at least six cops dressed as civilians loitering about and I saw ghost cars parked all around the exits. They’re obviously gathering for something in the market.”

“I suspected as much,” Montparnasse muttered, “whoever tipped them off will get what’s coming to them,” he continued in an even darker tone.

“Azelma, get out of here as fast as you can, but look natural. Don’t let anyone examine that basket too closely.” She gulped and nodded, looking at her brother who was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Where’s my money?”

“Here, I’m a man of my word, after all,” Montparnasse casually handed over more money than Gavroche had ever seen in one place in his life. 

“I’m out of here,” said Gavroche, he looked at Azelma. “You should get going soon too. Cops are never good.”

“Okay,” Azelma walked away from the booth, slightly in shock. First her long gone brother, now cops surrounding the market. What was so important about the basket? 

* * *

This was not good. Éponine crouched behind a crate of watermelons, watching the slowly moving queue of people wanting to leave the market, but being stopped so the cops could inspect their purchases. Azelma was six people away from the checkpoint, and shifting from foot to foot, which was a nervous habit Éponine knew Azelma had had since she was a little child. What to do? Knowing her dad and those thugs he insisted on associating himself with, there was probably something highly illegal concealed within that basket. She should let Azelma be caught, a treacherous part of her suggested. Azelma was smart, she could pretend ignorance and when the details of their family’s involvement in whatever this latest scheme was came out, Éponine would have a better chance of getting Azelma away from the warping influence of her dad and then take her to go find Gavroche. 

But then again, Éponine had seen the occasional social worker come to their house. All shiny and put together and nosey. Looking with barely concealed scorn at their ramshackle house. The elder Thénardiers would put on a good show and somehow manage to get welfare money instead of a visit from the cops. Could she put Azelma, put them through the system? She would be detained in a lock-up if whatever was in that basket was discovered and she didn’t deserve that experience. Éponine rubbed her temples, no, it was better to wait till she turned 18 and could begin to get her siblings away and safe with her. If she ever wanted such a thing, Azelma couldn’t get arrested. 

She stood up with more confidence than she felt and marched over to Azelma, who had now arrived at the checkpoint. 

“Where have you been?” she yelled, interrupting the cop who was just about to open her mouth to ask Azelma what was in her basket. 

“Ép- Éponine?” Azelma asked.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I told you to stay close.”

“Excuse me, but I need to see that basket,” the cop said. 

“You can wait, I need to find out what my little sister has been up to,” Éponine said indignantly. 

“I was just walking around, you don’t have to get so mad," Azelma retorted, catching on.

“You promised to stick by me!” Éponine yelled louder, letting the conflict escalate as the cop looked between them tiredly. 

“Just let me look at what’s in the basket girls,” the cop said. A new tactic to take occurred to Éponine. Her dad may be stupid in his- business decisions, but he wasn’t dumb when executing them. 

“Yes Azelma, show us what you decided to buy by yourself,” Éponine turned on her sister who looked at her with panic in her eyes. 

“But-”

“Show the cop, show me.”

“Fine,” Azelma muttered, Éponine was glad she still trusted her enough to follow her lead. Éponine hoped the chance she was taking would pay off. Azelma opened the wicker basket so that they could see five loaves of brioche wrapped in wax paper.

“You chose to spend your allowance on bread?” Éponine squawked indignantly, remembering how some kids at school bragged about getting money from their parents. 

“They taste good!” Azelma protested. The cop sighed and looked from the basket’s innocuous contents and then to the two arguing girls. 

“Just go, I have work to do,” she said. 

“Gladly,” said Éponine, grabbing Azelma’s wrist and pulling her out of the market and into freedom. 

At 12 a.m. she accompanied her sister to the drop off point. Her dad frowned at her as she stood behind Azelma, but she refused to back down.

“Good job my girl,” he said, ruffling her hair and eagerly taking the wicker basket. “Family dinner tonight. Be there. You too Éponine.”

“Whatever,” she muttered under her breath. He drove off just as quickly as he came and Azelma skipped happily back to her.


	3. Chapter 3

Gavroche made his way quickly to the vendor who sold teddy bears. The money from Montparnasse was a pleasing weight in his pocket. 

“I want two teddy bears please,” Gavroche said. 

“Can you pay?” The vendor asked skeptically. 

“Yes, but your cheapest ones,” said Gavroche. The vendor shrugged and popped a piece of gum into his mouth as he went to the hooks where stuffed animals in a wide range of colors were mounted, he took down two small, yet well stuffed teddy bears with plaid bows around their necks and brought them over to the counter.

“35 € ”

Gavroche paid happily. “What time is it?” he asked.

“11:30 a.m.” 

“Thanks.”

Clutching his purchases, one in each arm, he made his way over to the picnic benches to rest for a while till Magnon and her family came. He had just fallen asleep under a tree using the teddy bears for pillows when a hand roughly shook his shoulder.

“Get up kid,” a man said. 

“What?” Gavroche opened his eyes to see a police officer leaning over him and inadvertently flinched. Cops were nothing but trouble. 

“You got something to hide?” 

“No.”

“Then why did you flinch?”

“Because you woke me up suddenly.”

“I need to see those teddy bears.”

“Why?”

“Police are locking down this market and inspecting all purchases.”

“Why?”

“Because we suspect an illegal substance is being delivered through this very market.”

“And you think it’s in my teddy bears?”

“Orders are to inspect everything. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“And yet you are.”

“Just give me the teddy bears.”

“No.”

“Withholding evidence from police is a crime.”

“These aren't evidence. Maybe you just want to steal my teddy bears.”

“I just want to look at them child, I have no need for teddy bears.”

“Maybe they’d make you nicer.”

The officer growled and took them out of his hands, then ripped open the seam at the back to root through the stuffing.

“Hey! What’re you doing? I paid for those with my own money! You better pay me back mister.” 

A shadow fell over both of them, the angry boy and the frustrated cop. 

“Excuse me Officer Javert, why are you destroying this boy's teddy bears?” Gavroche looked up to see Magnon staring down both of them, arms crossed and angry. He smiled despite himself. 

“He’s hiding something, Madame Magnon,” the cop, Gavroche now knew to be Javert, retorted. 

“In a teddy bear? Monsieur, I think you have more important places to look.” The cop grunted and continued to feel through the stuffing, glaring at them both when he found nothing. 

“Officer Javert, you have needlessly destroyed this boy’s property. I suggest you leave now to go bother someone worth your time, unless you would like me to make an issue of this,” she added dangerously. Javert opened and closed his mouth in shock, then turned and stomped away, thrusting the ruined teddy bears back into Gavroche’s hands. He stared at them sadly, then looked at Magnon. Embarrassingly, he felt tears gathering in his eyes. 

“They were a gift for the boys,” he muttered, scuffing his feet. 

Magnon smiled at him and pulled him into a hug. Gavroche let himself sink into it.

“That’s very sweet of you Gavroche. Don’t worry, Mamselle will be able to sew these back together and they’ll be good as new,” she said kindly. 

“Really?”

“Really,” she laughed fondly. “Come now. We’re having an early lunch before the market is completely locked down.”

“Why did he listen to you?” Gavroche asked, separating himself from the hug. There was after all, only so much affection he could take. 

Magnon winked. “I have my ways, my boy. Trust me.” In his life of constant running and scampering, Gavroche was surprised to find that he did. 

* * *

“Well my girls, we’re rich!” M. Thénardier exclaimed, spinning in a circle, money in his hands. 

“This is barely a quarter of our share,” he continued, sniffing the bills happily and disappearing to squirrel them away in one of his many hiding holes.

“Can we get takeout?” Azelma asked eagerly. 

“Not a chance, I’m trying out this new meatloaf recipe and you all need to give me your opinions,” said Mme. Thénardier, sweeping into the private parlor and carrying a heavy tray of dark colored ground meat interspersed with pasty patches of color and spices. 

“Azelma, get the plates, Éponine, go get the beers. We’re having a proper dinner,” she ordered. Azelma nodded her head happily and got up to rummage in the kitchen for clean cutlery, sparing a glance for Éponine who slouched at the table with a stormy expression on her face. She always looked annoyed or worried, so Azelma wasn’t concerned. Tonight would be a good night, Dad was paying attention to her and they would have money for some time before he went on another drinking spree and did away with all the money in a single night. 

She tripped backed into the parlor and set out four mismatched plates with plastic cutlery. Mme. Thénardier immediately started carving into the meatloaf and slapping generous amounts on their plates. 

“I still have the remnants of the Brioche, you know. A bit broken, but still edible,” she said.

“If you want,” M. Thénardier responded airily, sitting down and taking a bite of the meatloaf.

“This is actually palatable,” he said, completely surprised. 

“Shut up and eat,” Mme. Thénardier grumbled, leaving the room for the brioche M. Thénardier had destroyed to access their contents. Azelma could tell she was secretly pleased, a rare event. Azelma tried the meatloaf. It wasn’t good, what was Dad thinking? 

“At least we won’t get food poisoning this time,” she whispered to Éponine. Her sister rolled her eyes, 

“One can only hope.”

“I heard that!” Mme. Thénardier called.

The four of them sat around the table, silent.

“Why aren't you eating?” Mme. Thénardier asked Éponine. Azelma glanced at her curiously. 

“I’m not hungry,” mumbled Éponine.

“Eat. We’re celebrating a job well done,” M. Thénardier said.

“Why should I celebrate?” she demanded. Azelma flinched as Éponine stood up and pushed her chair back with a screech. “Your stupid ass operation today nearly got Azelma arrested! You continue to dig yourself deeper into the underworld. Why should I celebrate you making some money, money that will be wasted by you within the week, that you got by putting  _ your own daughter at risk _ ?” Éponine was yelling now.

“Calm down. She didn’t get arrested. There’s nothing to be concerned about now,” M. Thénardier said, waving away the problem, not at all affected by his eldest daughter’s outburst. 

“I’ve had it,” Éponine hissed, then stomped off to her room. 

“Stupid child,” M. Thénardier muttered. He looked at Azelma who was trying to make herself look as small as possible. 

“You won’t go the route of rebellion, will you  _ mon cheri? _ ” he asked her quietly, voice laden with a threat. Azelma shook her head quickly. She ate her meatloaf in silence, trying to regain the happiness she had felt at the beginning of the meal. 

* * *

Éponine went through her night time routine in a haze. Her stomach was empty, but that was nothing new. She got into bed and turned on the radio she had built herself - capable of listening to the frequencies the cops used to communicate. Call it paranoia, call it interest, she always tuned in for nightly reports and the smattering of communications. Rarely the full story, but enough to create crimes and the general idea of events in her head. 

“Officer Jean reporting, no trouble on shift.”

“We need backup at 13 Fleur-de-lis chemin, armed man turned violent, two potential hostages.”   


“Bring croissants this time, not pain-au-chocolat, I hate those.”

“Drug bust on Farmer’s Market unsuccessful, cocaine suspected to have entered the underground market.”

Éponine sighed, she had just helped her sister, somewhat unwittingly, run drugs right underneath the noses of the cops. Dad and Mom just had to drag themselves deeper into trouble everyday. She resented them for that, she admitted to herself. The illegal activity didn’t bother her, someone would always do it, it was the consequences, what could happen to  _ them _ that did. 

Tonight would’ve been a good night, she reflected as she yawned, grateful that she didn’t have any homework. Dad had been almost jolly, Mom’s cooking was probably palatable. It warmed her heart to see Azelma thriving from the absent minded scraps of congratulations Dad had given her. Not that it was a good source, but it was good to see her happy. Éponine admitted to herself that she was also disheartened by how little it took to make Azelma think that he truly cared for her and took pride in what she did to help the family. 

She just had to go and ruin it with her outburst. Stupid. 

As she turned off the radio to lie awake for hours worrying and mulling over the events of the day, she once again renewed her resolve. The reason she was so determined to be the first in her family to finish high school, the reason she was already cultivating connections so she could leave this place. 

Escape.

She would take her siblings and protect them, they would be happy and no one would have to serve jail time. One day, she would make it happen. She just had to get through tomorrow, and all the days after that. 

**Author's Note:**

> My amazing collaborator @alicedraws on tumblr made two absolutely fantastic illustrations for this fic, you can find them here: https://alicedrawslesmis.tumblr.com/post/617296164833935360/my-contribution-to-the-les-mis-big-bang


End file.
